In the arid, desolate basin of Mecca, surrounded on all sides by
the bare mountains of the Arabian desert, stands a small,
nondescript sanctuary that the ancient Arabs refer to as the
Kaaba: the Cube. The Kaaba is a squat, roofless edifice made of
unmortared stones and sunk into a valley of sand. Its four walls
-- so low it is said a young goat can leap over them -- are
swathed in strips of heavy cloth. At its base, two small doors are
chiseled into the gray stone, allowing entry into the inner
sanctum. It is here, inside the cramped interior of the sanctuary,
that the gods of pre-Islamic Arabia reside: Hubal, the Syrian god
of the moon; al-Uzza, the powerful goddess the Egyptians knew as
Isis and the Greeks called Aphrodite; al-Kutba, the Nabataean god
of writing and divination; Jesus, the incarnate god of the
Christians, and his holy mother, Mary.

In all, there are said to be three hundred sixty idols housed in
and around the Kaaba, representing every god recognized in the
Arabian Peninsula. During the holy months, when the desert fairs
and the great markets envelop the city of Mecca, pilgrims from all
over the Peninsula make their way to this barren land to visit
their tribal deities. They sing songs of worship and dance in
front of the gods; they make sacrifices and pray for health. Then,
in a remarkable ritual -- the origins of which are a mystery --
the pilgrims gather as a group and rotate around the Kaaba seven
times, some pausing to kiss each corner of the sanctuary before
being captured and swept away again by the current of bodies.

The pagan Arabs gathered around the Kaaba believe their sanctuary
to have been founded by Adam, the first man. They believe that
Adam's original edifice was destroyed by the Great Flood, then
rebuilt by Noah. They believe that after Noah, the Kaaba was
forgotten for centuries until Abraham rediscovered it while
visiting his firstborn son, Ismail, and his concubine, Hagar, both
of whom had been banished to this wilderness at the behest of
Abraham's wife, Sarah. And they believe it was at this very spot
that Abraham nearly sacrificed Ismail before being stopped by the
promise that, like his younger brother, Isaac, Ismail would also
sire a great nation, the descendants of whom now spin over the
sandy Meccan valley like a desert whirlwind.

Of course, these are just stories intended to convey what the
Kaaba means, not where it came from. The truth is that no one
knows who built the Kaaba, or how long it has been here. It is
likely that the sanctuary was not even the original reason for the
sanctity of this place. Near the Kaaba is a well called Zamzam,
fed by a bountiful underground spring, which tradition claims had
been placed there to nourish Hagar and Ismail. It requires no
stretch of the imagination to recognize how a spring situated in
the middle of the desert could become a sacred place for the
wandering Bedouin tribes of Arabia. The Kaaba itself may have been
erected many years later, not as some sort of Arab pantheon, but
as a secure place to store the consecrated objects used in the
rituals that had evolved around Zamzam. Indeed, the earliest
traditions concerning the Kaaba claim that inside its walls was a
pit, dug into the sand, which contained "treasures" magically
guarded by a snake.

It is also possible that the original sanctuary held some
cosmological significance for the ancient Arabs. Not only were
many of the idols in the Kaaba associated with the planets and
stars, but the legend that they totaled three hundred sixty in
number suggests astral connotations. The seven circumambulations
of the Kaaba -- called tawaf in Arabic and still the primary
ritual of the annual Hajj pilgrimage -- may have been intended to
mimic the motion of the heavenly bodies. It was, after all, a
common belief among ancient peoples that their temples and
sanctuaries were terrestrial replicas of the cosmic mountain from
which creation sprang. The Kaaba, like the Pyramids in Egypt or
the Temple in Jerusalem, may have been constructed as an axis
mundi, sometimes called a "navel spot": a sacred space around
which the universe revolves, the link between the earth and the
solid dome of heaven. That would explain why there was once a nail
driven into the floor of the Kaaba that the ancient Arabs referred
to as "the navel of the world." As G. R. Hawting has shown, the
ancient pilgrims would sometimes enter the sanctuary, tear off
their clothes, and place their own navels over the nail, thereby
merging with the cosmos.

Alas, as with so many things about the Kaaba, its origins are mere
speculation. The only thing scholars can say with any certainty is
that by the sixth century C.E., this small sanctuary made of mud
and stone had become the center of religious life in pre-Islamic
Arabia: that intriguing yet ill-defined era of paganism that
Muslims refer to as the Jahiliyyah -- "the Time of Ignorance."

Traditonally, the Jahiliyyah has been defined by Muslims as an era
of moral depravity and religious discord: a time when the sons of
Ismail had obscured belief in the one true God and plunged the
Arabian Peninsula into the darkness of idolatry. But then, like
the rising of the dawn, the Prophet Muhammad emerged in Mecca at
the beginning of the seventh century, preaching a message of
absolute monotheism and uncompromising morality. Through the
miraculous revelations he received from God, Muhammad put an end
to the paganism of the Arabs and replaced the "Time of Ignorance"
with the universal religion of Islam.

In actuality, the religious experience of the pre-Islamic Arabs
was far more complex than this tradition suggests. It is true that
before the rise of Islam the Arabian Peninsula was dominated by
paganism. But, like "Hinduism," "paganism" is a meaningless and
somewhat derogatory catchall term created by those outside the
tradition to categorize what is in reality an almost unlimited
variety of beliefs and practices. The word paganus means "a rustic
villager" or "a boor," and was originally used by Christians as a
term of abuse to describe those who followed any religion but
theirs. In some ways, this is an appropriate designation. Unlike
Christianity, paganism is not so much a unified system of beliefs
and practices as it is a religious perspective, one that is
receptive to a multitude of influences and interpretations. Often,
though not always, polytheistic, paganism strives for neither
universalism nor moral absolutism. There is no such thing as a
pagan creed or a pagan canon. Nothing exists that could properly
be termed "pagan orthodoxy" or "pagan heterodoxy."

What is more, when referring to the paganism of the pre-Islamic
Arabs, it is important to make a distinction between the nomadic
Bedouin religious experience and the experience of those sedentary
tribes that had settled in major population centers like Mecca.
Bedouin paganism in sixth-century Arabia may have encompassed a
range of beliefs and practices -- from fetishism to totemism to
manism (ancestor cults) -- but it was not as concerned with the
more metaphysical questions that were cultivated in the larger
sedentary societies of Arabia, particularly with regard to issues
like the afterlife. This is not to say that the Bedouin practiced
nothing more than a primitive idolatry. On the contrary, there is
every reason to believe that the Bedouin of pre-Islamic Arabia
enjoyed a rich and diverse religious tradition. However, the
nomadic lifestyle is one that requires a religion to address
immediate concerns: Which god can lead us to water? Which god can
heal our illnesses?

In contrast, paganism among the sedentary societies of Arabia had
developed from its earlier and simpler manifestations into a
complex form of neo-animism, providing a host of divine and
semi-divine intermediaries who stood between the creator god and
his creation. This creator god was called Allah, which is not a
proper name but a contraction of the word al-ilah, meaning simply
"the god." Like his Greek counterpart, Zeus, Allah was originally
an ancient rain/sky deity who had been elevated into the role of
the supreme god of the pre-Islamic Arabs. Though a powerful deity
to swear by, Allah's eminent status in the Arab pantheon rendered
him, like most High Gods, beyond the supplications of ordinary
people. Only in times of great peril would anyone bother
consulting him. Otherwise, it was far more expedient to turn to
the lesser, more accessible gods who acted as Allah's
intercessors, the most powerful of whom were his three daughters,
Allat ("the goddess"), al-Uzza ("the mighty"), and Manat (the
goddess of fate, whose name is probably derived from the Hebrew
word mana, meaning "portion" or "share"). These divine mediators
were not only represented in the Kaaba, they had their own
individual shrines throughout the Arabian Peninsula: Allat in the
city of Ta'if; al-Uzza in Nakhlah; and Manat in Qudayd. It was to
them that the Arabs prayed when they needed rain, when their
children were ill, when they entered into battle or embarked on a
journey deep into the treacherous desert abodes of the Jinn --
those intelligent, imperceptible, and salvable beings made of
smokeless flame who are called "genies" in the West and who
function as the nymphs and fairies of Arabian mythology.

There were no priests and no pagan scriptures in pre-Islamic
Arabia, but that does not mean the gods remained silent. They
regularly revealed themselves through the ecstatic utterances of a
group of cultic officials known as the Kahins. The Kahins were
poets who functioned primarily as soothsayers and who, for a fee,
would fall into a trance in which they would reveal divine
messages through rhyming couplets. Poets already had an important
role in pre-Islamic society as bards, tribal historians, social
commentators, dispensers of moral philosophy, and, on occasion,
administrators of justice. But the Kahins represented a more
spiritual function of the poet. Emerging from every social and
economic stratum, and including a number of women, the Kahins
interpreted dreams, cleared up crimes, found lost animals, settled
disputes, and expounded upon ethics. As with their Pythian
counterparts at Delphi, however, the Kahins' oracles were vague
and deliberately imprecise; it was the supplicant's responsibility
to figure out what the gods actually meant.

Although considered the link between humanity and the divine, the
Kahins did not communicate directly with the gods but rather
accessed them through the Jinn and other spirits who were such an
integral part of the Jahiliyyah religious experience. Even so,
neither the Kahins, nor anyone else for that matter, had access to
Allah. In fact, the god who had created the heavens and the earth,
who had fashioned human beings in his own image, was the only god
in the whole of the Hijaz not represented by an idol in the Kaaba.
Although called "the King of the Gods" and "the Lord of the
House," Allah was not the central deity in the Kaaba. That honor
belonged to Hubal, the Syrian god who had been brought to Mecca
centuries before the rise of Islam.

Despite Allah's minimal role in the religious cult of pre-Islamic
Arabia, his eminent position in the Arab pantheon is a clear
indication of just how far paganism in the Arabian Peninsula had
evolved from its simple animistic roots. Perhaps the most striking
example of this development can be seen in the processional chant
that tradition claims the pilgrims sang as they approached the
Kaaba:

Here I am, O Allah, here I am.

You have no partner,

Except such a partner as you have.

You possess him and all that is his.

This remarkable proclamation, with its obvious resemblance to the
Muslim profession of faith -- "There is no god but God" -- may
reveal the earliest traces in pre-Islamic Arabia of what the
German philologist Max Muller termed henotheism: the belief in a
single High God, without necessarily rejecting the existence of
other, subordinate gods. The earliest evidence of henotheism in
Arabia can be traced back to a tribe called the Amir, who lived
near modern-day Yemen in the second century B.C.E., and who
worshipped a High God they called dhu-Samawi, "The Lord of the
Heavens." While the details of the Amirs' religion have been lost
to history, most scholars are convinced that by the sixth century
C.E., henotheism had become the standard belief of the vast
majority of sedentary Arabs, who not only accepted Allah as their
High God, but insisted that he was the same god as Yahweh, the god
of the Jews.

The Jewish presence in the Arabian Peninsula can, in theory, be
traced to the Babylonian Exile a thousand years earlier, though
subsequent migrations may have taken place in 70 C.E., after
Rome's sacking of the Temple in Jerusalem, and again in 132 C.E.,
after the messianic uprising of Simon Bar Kochba. For the most
part, the Jews were a thriving and highly influential diaspora
whose culture and traditions had been thoroughly integrated into
the social and religious milieu of pre-Islamic Arabia. Whether
Arab converts or immigrants from Palestine, the Jews participated
in every level of Arab society. According to Gordon Newby,
throughout the Peninsula there were Jewish merchants, Jewish
Bedouin, Jewish farmers, Jewish poets, and Jewish warriors. Jewish
men took Arab names and Jewish women wore Arab headdresses. And
while some of these Jews may have spoken Aramaic (or at least a
corrupted version of it), their primary language was Arabic.

Although in contact with major Jewish centers throughout the Near
East, Judaism in Arabia had developed its own variations on
traditional Jewish beliefs and practices. The Jews shared many of
the same religious ideals as their pagan Arab counterparts,
especially with regard to what is sometimes referred to as
"popular religion": belief in magic, the use of talismans and
divination, and the like. For example, while there is evidence of
a small yet formal rabbinical presence in some regions of the
Arabian Peninsula, there also existed a group of Jewish
soothsayers called the Kohens who, while maintaining a far more
priestly function in their communities, nevertheless resembled the
pagan Kahins in that they too dealt in divinely inspired oracles.

The relationship between the Jews and pagan Arabs was symbiotic in
that not only were the Jews heavily Arabized, but the Arabs were
also significantly influenced by Jewish beliefs and practices. One
need look no further for evidence of this influence than to the
Kaaba itself, whose origin myths indicate that it was a Semitic
sanctuary (haram in Arabic) with its roots dug deeply in Jewish
tradition. Adam, Noah, Abraham, Moses, and Aaron were all in one
way or another associated with the Kaaba long before the rise of
Islam, and the mysterious Black Stone that to this day is fixed to
the southeast corner of the sanctuary seems to have been
originally associated with the same stone upon which Jacob rested
his head during his famous dream of the ladder.

Though it is the fastest-growing religion in the world, Islam
remains shrouded in ignorance and fear. What is the essence of
this ancient faith? Is it a religion of peace or war? How does
Allah differ from the God of Jews and Christians? Can an Islamic
state be founded on democratic values such as pluralism and human
rights? A scholar of comparative religions, Reza Aslan has earned
international acclaim for the passion and clarity he has brought
to these questions. In No god but God, challenging the "clash of
civilizations" mentality that has distorted our view of Islam,
Aslan explains this faith in all its complexity, beauty, and
compassion.

Contrary to popular perception in the West, Islam is a religion
firmly rooted in the prophetic traditions of the Jewish and
Christian scriptures. Aslan opens with a vivid account of the
social and political milieu in which the Prophet Mohammed lived.
The revelations that Muhammed received in Mecca and Medina, which
were recorded in the Quran, became the foundation for a radically
more egalitarian community, the likes of which had never been seen
before.

Soon after his death, the Prophet's successors set about the
overwhelming task of defining and interpreting Muhammed's message
for future generations. Their efforts led to the development of a
comprehensive code of conduct that was expected to regulate every
aspect of the believer's life. But this attempt only widened the
chasm between orthodox Islam and its two major sects, Shi'ism and
Sufism, both of which Aslan discusses in rich detail.

Finally, No god but God examines how, in the shadow of European
colonialism, Muslims developed conflicting strategies to reconcile
traditional Islamic values with the social and political realities
of the modern world. With the emergence of the Islamic state in
the twentieth century, this contest over the future of Islam has
become a passionate, sometimes violent battle between those who
seek to enforce a rigid and archaic legal code and those who
struggle to harmonize the teachings of the Prophet with
contemporary ideals of democracy and human rights. According to
Reza Aslan, we are now living in the era of "the Islamic
Reformation." No god but God is a persuasive and elegantly written
account of the roots of this reformation and the future of the
Islamic faith.

Reza Aslan has studied religions at Santa Clara University,
Harvard University, and the University of California, Santa
Barbara. He holds an MFA in fiction from the Writers' Workshop at
the University of Iowa, where he was also visiting assistant
professor of Islamic and Middle Eastern Studies. His work has
appeared in The Nation, Slate, and The New York Times, and he has
been profiled in USA Today, U.S. News & World Report, and The
Chronicle of Higher Education. Born in Iran, he lives in Santa
Barbara and New Orleans.

"This is a fascinating book. Reza Aslan tells the story of Islam
with one eye on faith and another on history. The result is a
textured, nuanced account that presents a living, breathing
religion shaped by centuries of history and culture."

-- Fareed Zakaria, author of The Future of Freedom, Illiberal
Democracy at Home and Abroad

"Elegant, accessible, and informed by historical scholarship, No
god but God offers a wonderful view into the rich world of early
Islam. Reza Aslan brings to the life of Muhammed and the story of
classical Islam a lyricism and deft touch reminiscent of Roberto
Calasso at his best."

-- Noah Feldman, author of After Jihad and What We Owe Iraq

"Reza Aslan tells a story of Islamic faith, history, and culture
that comes alive. No god but God is an engaging, creative,
insightful, and provocative book. It is a reminder that beyond the
terrorism headlines, Islam, like its Abrahamic cousins, has been
and remains a rich, dynamic spiritual path for the vast majority
of its adherents."

-- John L. Esposito, university professor and founding director
of the Center for Muslim-Christian Understanding, Georgetown
University, and author of Unholy War: Terror in the Name of Islam
and What Everyone Needs to Know About Islam

"A fascinating account of Islam's evolution. Aslan's book should
be required reading for all analysts and policymakers interested
in the Muslim world. It's a terrific read -- no easy feat for such
a difficult subject."

-- Steven Cook, Next Generation Fellow, Council on Foreign
Relations

"Reza Aslan counters superficial notions of a clash of
civilizations with a deep and exhilarating exploration of the
fifteen-hundred-year-old clash within the civilization of Islam.
Distinguishing concepts like faith and religion, Islamism and
Islamic fundamentalism, in ways that shed vital new light on the
morning's headlines. No god but God is a passionate argument for
the shared history of the world's religions. An essential
contribution to the most important issue of our time."